


there's no grand plan here: this is just the way it goes

by lodessa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Internal Conflict, Loud Sex, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: In this modified a/b/o setting, the Targaryen Madness is linked to their all beingenkagon(omegas) who frequently struggle with the conflict between their pride and lust for power and their need to be satisfied by anademmagon(alpha) .After the death of Khal Drogo, Daenerys must made a choice about how to handle the next time she goes into "the State" as it is called, but when she does she finds herself experiencing more than she had anticipated.





	there's no grand plan here: this is just the way it goes

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by Daenerys' restless sexual frustration in _A Dance With Dragons_ , highlighted by passages such as: 
> 
> _“That night she could not sleep but turned restlessly in her bed. She even went so far as to summon Irri, hoping her caresses might help ease her way to rest, but after a short while she pushed the Dothraki girl away. Irri was soft and sweet and willing, but she was not Daario.”_
> 
> Which gave me the idea of imagining Dany's descent into lust driven sleepless poor decision making fitting into a larger idea of Targaryens as omegas.
> 
> But also (as always) by the show's choice to cast Iain Glen as Jorah, making him far more attractive than book!Jorah, and the incredible chemistry on screen between the two of them. 
> 
>    
> Based on my internet research of Valyrian Words I have used the following terms to replace the traditional alpha and omega:
> 
>  **ademaggon** _(to pay, to satisfy, to make good)_ in place of alpha
> 
>  **enkagon** _(to owe +inst: the thing owed; +acc: the person to whom it is owed)_ in place of omega.
> 
> Using Greek words felt not quite right for this setting, but I also like to think that it gave me an opportunity to tweak the implications of the dynamic between them, to better suit my vision.

“Khaleesi, your handmaidens seemed worried…” Jorah stops in his tracks when he catches sight of her, pupils dilated, sweat drenched.

“The curse of my family has come upon me,” she confesses, “the Targaryen Blood Fever.”

Her brother had sold her to Drogo the first time she went into the State.

 _You are much more valuable like this._ Viserys had told her, twerking her already aching nipple cruelly through the negligible fabric of her dress, such as it was. _A bitch in enkagon is one you can do anything to and she’ll beg you to keep going._. 

Later, she wondered, if Viserys hadn’t been speaking of himself, unwilling to admit himself lowered to that same base need that all members of their family fell prey to from time to time. Perhaps that was what drove him to self destruction in the end. Unanswered, the State would inevitably drive a person mad.

Now she feels the press of that desperation upon her. Drogo is gone and temporary measures such as her handmaidens have been partaking in are not enough. They are not _ademaggon_ Truly it has never been this bad. She’s never waited this long before, but it also feels like the episodes are getting worse over time.

She can smell Jorah, even all the way over there in the doorway. Doubtless he can smell her just as strongly. She’d known already that he was _ademaggon_ , of course, the indicators were unmistakable to someone like her, but she hadn’t given it much consideration, not when Drogo been perfectly capable of giving her the balm she needed.

“What can I do? Do you need me to go find someone?” he says sincerely, despite the way he is gazing ravenously at her. She can see him swallow as he takes in the sight of her swollen breasts, hardened nipples visible through fine cloth of her dress. She sees the way his eyes widen at the way her skirt has bunched up around her thighs.

“It's humiliating,” she reveals to him, “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“You shouldn’t be… You’re breathtaking,” he says with such naked awe, as if he cannot help himself. 

It gives her strength, as he always has. This is the right choice, the best choice.

“I need you,” she tells him, “I trust you.”

“Me?” he asks with quiet surprise, as though he hadn’t considered why she’d sent for him until just this moment. 

She watches the way his tension shifts, the soft hopeful ghost of a smile that crosses his face. 

“You,” she confirms, “There’s no reason for us to pretend you can’t give me what I need, what I want.”

He steps inside, closing the door behind himself. She beckons him forward, pushing herself up onto her knees and reaching out for him as he comes into her reach.

She breathes him in, the heady sensation of him close to her in her current state sending her nerve endings further into overdrive. She watches his breath catch and his nostrils flare as she pulls him down towards her till he is sitting beside her on the bed.

Their foreheads meet, as she guides his face to her, and she kisses him hard, hungrily claiming his mouth with her own. It takes him a split second to respond, kissing her just as frantically back. His beard scratches against her over sensitive skin but she has no care for the rash it will leave behind.

His hands cup her breasts through the thin resistance of her dress, teasing her aching nipples through the fabric and she moans into his mouth, clambering over him, pushing her hands up under his shirt to feel his solid form beneath.

“Hurry,” she urges him, changing course to start working at unlacing his breeches instead.

They separate enough for him to pull off his shirt and then he runs his hands up her legs, catching the skirt of her dress and guiding the whole thing up over her head, leaving her naked before him.

She kisses him again, pressing her chest to his and shuddering at the skin contact, as she gets her hand inside of his pants and confirms that he’s already hard for her.

“Let me do this right,” he groans.

“Later,” she assures him, “Right now I can’t wait.”

One last kiss before she pulls away, positioning herself on her hands and knees in the middle of the bed, trusting him to finish stripping down for her.

She expects his hands when they spread across either side of her backside. She does not expect the warmth of his breath or the soft wet embrace of his tongue between her legs. She doesn’t try to repress her moans as he licks her and then thrusts his tongue into her, one of his hands coming round in front of her body to press against the core of her need.

Its similar to what her handmaidens tried for her, and yet it is different, from this position and coming from him. 

“You taste even better than you smell,” he gasps, pulling back slightly and peppering kisses across the curve of her backside, before going back to it.

At any other time, this would be a feeling she wouldn’t ever want to stop, but in this state the need deep within her to be filled is screaming out.

“Now,” she whimpers. “Take me now!”

He circles his tongue inside her once more, before heeding her desperate pleas. His tongue drags all the way up her backside, along her spine to the nape of her neck. The whole while, the hand buried in the hair between her legs works, as he rolls the nub of her pleasure between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck me,” she urges. “I need you inside of me.”

He doesn’t so much push into her as pull her up onto him, using his hands to guide her up and back. She cries out as he slides in easily, as oveready as she is.

“Right there…” she moans as he hits the right spot, and he grinds there, drawing out more desperate moaning from her.

He must be desperate with need himself; the State is a powerful thing and it is fully capable of dragging others into madness with it, but he still seems focused on her, on her needs and not just her permission. 

He takes the hand on her backside and moves it to her face, urging her to turn it to the side, their eyes meeting as he buries himself completely in her, the other hand still sending shocks of pleasure soaked need through her body as he continues to rub her without as he does within.

Hand drifting down from her face to her throat, he guides her upright, back pressed to his chest. She cranes her neck a little further and he bends his to meet her mouth with his.

He rocks inside of her, finding that just right spot, swallowing her moans, and Daenerys doesn’t think she’s ever felt more whole than in this moment. 

When she’s in the State, pretty much anything feels good, including things that would usually be painful or unpleasant, but this is beyond that. 

Jorah’s hand moves from her throat downwards, spreading his fingers wide to stretch between her breasts, gathering them together to hold as he speeds up slightly, protecting them from painful jostling.

“Harder…” she gasps, lightheaded and short of breath. 

He obliges, thrusting more strongly as he nuzzles his face into the side of her neck: breathing her in, sucking on her pulse point. 

“Jorah!” she cries out, shuddering and shaking, the last actual word she manages before she loses coherency all together.

Finally breaking through the barrier of an over long wait, she moans in pleasure as she reaches her peak, each time he changes direction crying out as she rides the wave of release. For all the humiliating vulnerability of the State, this makes it all worth it, the drawn out catharsis.

When he finally joins her, the hot rush of his seed flooding her, she screams with the ecstasy of it. Her vision goes white.

She must black out in that moment; because, the next thing she knows she’s laid out on the bed on her back, Jorah’s concerned face hovering over her.

She smiles up at him, joy and warmth surging through her, the warm tingling of her body’s eager welcome of his seed still noticeable. She thinks that perhaps she’d forgotten how rejuvenating this sensation is, the rejoicing of her entire being on some primordial level she has no words for.

“You had me worried, Khaleesi,” he tells her.

“Don’t be,” she reassures him, “That was perfect. You were perfect.”

She watches him positively beam with her praise, before remembering myself apparently and schooling his expression into something more serious.

“Do you often faint like that?” he enquires.

“Only when I’m in the State.” she admits.

Even then, she usually only is gone for a moment, not long enough to be noticed.

“I’m not sure what I should-” he begins, struggling for words. 

She understands. Her sweet bear, not knowing her intentions and not wanting to assume. She may have been screaming his name mere moments ago, but he isn’t sure she will want him around now that she’s gotten what she needed. The truth is she hadn’t really thought it through either, desperate with need. She’d just known it should be him.

“Stay with me,” she invites him. “Sometimes I end up needing more than one round.”

It isn’t exactly a lie, and it isn’t completely honest. In this case, more isn’t strictly necessary. She can already feel the difference in her body. She’s still sensitive but no longer aching. Her temperature has dropped significantly. 

“I’ll do my best, Khaleesi,” he replies bashfully, regretfully, “but I’m not a young man anymore,” 

“Oh,” she can’t help smiling, “Don’t you know?”

She drags one of her fingers between her thighs, coating it in her pleasure, before reaching up to slide it between his lips. He willingly sucks her finger clean, surprise overtaking his face as almost immediately his spent cock begins to stir. Another gift of the State.

“Oh…” he says. “Oh!”

“Come here,” she tells him scooting over to leave room for him to crawl onto the bed beside her. 

Now that the fever of the State has receded a bit, she can kiss him more slowly, as she finds she wants to do. She reaches down to stroke him, overcome with tenderness. 

“We have about the next twelve hours,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry… I didn’t realize, you hadn’t…”

She hadn’t intended to resume so immediately, but the idea that no one has ever done this for him, in all the years he’s been walking around with the capacity, drives her to show him what can be. 

“There aren’t many who are _enkagon_. I’ve never been… chosen before.”

She kisses her way down his chest and past his navel, dragging her lips over his hips and then along the insides of his thighs, all the while slowly running her hand up and down his renewed arousal. 

“But you knew you were _ademmagon_?”

She wants to make up for the decades he’s spent only scratching the surface of the kind of pleasure his body is capable of, but mostly of the time she has spent with him ignoring it.

“It is not uncommon in my line, though not as universal as that of yours. When you are _enkagon_ , you have no choice but to seek _ademmagon_ , for us it isn’t that way, though we find you impossible to resist. We make do. Truly I’m glad now, that it never happened before for me… that it ended up being you.”

She thinks of all the things Doreah taught her, but more than that she follows her instincts. Her body knows, as she breathes him in. Licking from the base to the tip of him, Daenerys moves her mouth down all the way to the root of his arousal, sucking lightly where his seed waits as she teases its final destination with her fingertips. 

She’s never wanted to do this quite so much before, running her tongue along the underside of him before going back down to the root again. Her free hand rests on his thigh, thumb tracing gentle circles. 

She looks up to watch his face as she shifts her entire body between his legs, their eyes meeting as she sinks her mouth down around him finally, the lingering effects of the State allowing her to take more of him than would normally be pleasant. 

Taking the hand she’s replaced with her mouth, she cups and gently rolls where she’s lifted her lips from, as she sucks around the base of his manhood and then keeps sucking as she slowly moves her lips up around his length all the way to just shy of the tip before releasing the pressure momentarily as she moves back down.

She can feel him, doing his best to keep his hips down on the bed. She moves her hand from his thigh to trace the path of hair down from below his navel to just above the rise of his arousal, spreading her fingers out and gently but firmly pressing down, and she can feel him tremble under her as she moves her mouth up again, this time pressing her tongue against the underside of him and then swirling it over the head before closing her mouth tighter to suck around the tip.

“Gods…” he groans, as she repeats the process. “You are going to make me embarrass myself like a green youth of-”

“That’s the idea,” Daenerys grins, pulling her head back just slightly to reply. “Not to embarrass you but to release you from a lifetime of restraint. There’s no reason you shouldn’t let go, shouldn’t spill down my throat. Let me have you this way, now, when we don’t have to choose.”

She resumes, a little more intently now. Jorah reaches down and gently sweeps her hair out of her face, eyes locked on hers as she hums around him, tongue stroking more quickly now as she buries her face as far as she can. 

His hands shake with the rest of him and she can feel him tensing and releasing in turn as his pride and pleasure fight one another, a strangled cry escaping him as she shifts her grip under him slightly, pressing her thumb ever so slightly against his ass, sucking once more around him and he comes at her urging. 

She swallows down the salty taste of him eagerly, fueled by some combination of the State’s thirst for _ademmagon_ , for this body and his scent and his taste and his seed, and feelings about him specifically, of which she is only now starting to become aware.

His hands are strong and insistent on her shoulders and then working their way down her sides to her thighs as he urges her upwards, a sticky trail of her pleasure left on his skin as he pulls her hips towards his face.

“My turn,” he murmurs, beard brushing her inner thighs and his hot breath setting her soaked lips and core afire with renewed vigor. 

It had surprised her earlier, when Jorah actively wanted to do this. Drogo had never been on to deviate from his pattern, taking her hard and fast, which was better when she was in the State than out of it. He learned to accept other offers from her: her mouth when she was bleeding below, her above him, when she pushed for it. But he had never shown any interest in trying something else of his own initiative.

 _He’s not Drogo_ Daenerys tells herself, as if it were not evident in every moment. She had loved her husband with every fiber of her being and he had not left her wanting, but she cannot pretend that being with Jorah now is in any way remotely less satisfying.

The way his tongue strokes her, drawing back into his mouth each time as if eager to swallow more of her. 

The way his hands travel up her thighs and waist to find her breasts, firm but not rough. Even when he had been behind her, fucking her hard, he’d held her like something precious.

The way his lips lock over her and tug insistently, making her legs quake once more.

The way he reaches one hand behind her, fingertips caressing down her spine, following the curve of her backside all the way to press into her, seeking the spot within that makes her shaky breathing and low groans turn to gasping moans of “yes!”

She takes his head in her hands, riding his face and hand as she rocks over him, feeling every bit as unbound as she just so recently wanted to make him feel. 

She doesn’t black out this time, but that means she gets to enjoy the full experience of it, exploding like kindling in dragonfire. 

His beard is a sticky mess of her when she finally pulls away from it, putting her hands on his chest and backing herself down his body until his arousal presses against her backside. She leans in and kisses him, tasting herself on him.

“You can have me however you want me,” she whispers against his lips, grinding against him, so the length of him slides along the cleft of her ass.

Right now, she will enjoy whatever Jorah does to her, her blood still running hot, but the truth is that she suspects he would find a way to give her pleasure in it anyway, the way he has sought to do all along thus far.

“I want you exactly as you are,” Jorah says with absolute conviction that makes her squirm in its directness.

“I meant-” she tries to explain.

“I know what you meant, Daenerys Stormborn,” he says, naming her a sort of invocation that sends a shiver down her spine she can’t quite name.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” 

She has felt his gaze on her, known the heat of it. It isn’t possible she was mistaken in some way.

“You know I did. I do. How could I not? How could I look upon you and not desire you? I didn’t think I’d ever have you in my arms but I longed for you to want me all the same, and right now for this moment you do.”

“I do,” she repeats, sitting up and shifting so that she can slide down onto him.

Arching her back, she squeezes around him as she begins to ride him, enjoying the feeling of him under and inside her, her body still more sensitive than usual, the control she has as she moves him just where she wants him within her.

She’s always loved this position, from the first time she was brave enough to insist on it. 

“I am lucky, blessed beyond the fortune of all other living men, to have this moment.”

He sits up, not to move over her or take away her control of the movement, but merely wrapping his arms around her, so lightly his fingertips barely touch her skin.

She takes his face in he hands as she rocks more energetically against him, grinding around him in a circular motion and then more quickly up and down. 

“I am lucky to have you, Jorah the Andal, my steadfast bear, my _ademmagon_ … in this as in all things.”

She finds herself moaning again, as her pleasure builds once more, her flesh on fire. She moves her hands to his shoulders and pushes him back down against the bed. He goes willingly. Riding him harder and faster, she hears her pitch increase as sweat drips down her body.

He reaches his hand out to rub where she throbs and she shifts so he can make better contact.

“I want you,” she shudders, too far gone to censor her words. “I want you every way a woman can have a man. In this moment, I am transformed into a wraith, a creature of fire and longing, hungry only for you.”

Throwing her head back she cries out as she crosses past the point of no return, clenching hard around him, whole body shaking. He moves both hands to her hips, holding her down onto him, and thrusting upwards, drawing out her release as she shrieks his name. 

“You can never long for me more than I long for you, Khaleesi,” he tells her as he does flip them over now, plunging into her over and over as her still spasming body flails under him, overwhelmed with every brush of his thighs against hers. “No desire you could ever hold would be in excess of mine. You told me earlier that your State embarrassed you, but nothing you feel, need, or want could lessen you in my eyes.”

“Viserys told me that men relished _enkagon_ because we would let them do anything they wanted, like a bitch in heat,” she finds herself sharing with him, unable to not as she shudders uncontrollably in his arms.

“Viserys was a fool,” Jorah says, her brother’s name like a curse on his lips in contrast with every other word out of his mouth and the tender way he’s cradling her thighs in his hands. “I know that without being _enkagon_ you would never… that you would not desire me, but it is that desire I find intoxicating: your want and not your submission.”

“And if I were not _enkagon_...” she asks, not sure how to respond to the first half of his response, reaching out instead to caress his cheek as she arches her hips up into him. 

Would she be here under him without the flame of the State to ignite her passion? She cannot say in this moment, not while she’s wrapped up in him: in a haze of pleasure and passion she cannot see past.

“I would pine for you, my queen, my guiding light, every bit as much and the same… without hope of this miracle.”

He covers her shoulders and neck in kisses, stopping to softly lick the places where the coarse texture of his beard has reddened her skin already, as he continues to thrust into her, their bodies meeting over and over, and she believes him. He does not want her for her Blood Fever, as intoxicating as its effects are to both of them as they relish this moment.

“My bear,” she murmurs, caressing the back of his head as she tilts hers to give him better access to her neck, “My strong loyal bear.”

She wraps one of her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, as his lips return to hers. She does not know how she will feel when the State fades completely, but in this moment she is completely euphoric in Jorah’s arms, curled around him, feeling him deep inside of her. 

_Could it be like this?_ She can’t help wondering, _Not just in this moment, not just in the State… well not exactly like this_ , she knows, but Jorah’s hands move to her breasts, holding and caressing and it feels like more than a relief.

She’s always felt safe in his arms.

“Where did you go?” he asks, as if noticing her moment of distraction.

“Nowhere…” she starts before telling him “The future.”

“Are you… done, with me then?” he hesitates before saying, stilling but not withdrawing from her.

“No,” she shakes her head, reaching out to trace a finger across his lips and over his cheek fondly. “I just… this is so good and I can’t help wondering how much of it is the fever in my blood and how much of it is you.”

“Does it matter?” he asks, though she can see him swallow sharply as though trying to reign in his reaction.

“I don’t know,” she confesses. “I don’t know what this means. I feel as though I don’t know anything.”

“You don’t have to know,” he promises her, moving his hands to her hair as he stares down into her eyes. “My place is wherever you need me.”

“And if that’s sometimes here,” she says, circling her hips slightly to emphasize her meaning, “and sometimes on the other side of the door?”

“Then that is where I will be,” he assures her

“And if this is the only time it is here?” she asks, though it pains her to say it.

“Then this will be a memory I cherish for the rest of my days,” he vows, though there is a bright shine to his eyes of barely controlled emotion.

“It doesn’t seem fair,” she realizes, “Using you as I please.”

He scans her face, seeming to ponder something for a moment, before asking, “How much did your brother tell you about the Kingsguard?” 

It seems like a strange tangent, but she does her best to answer nonetheless.

“The vows. The white cloaks. They were sworn to protect us and yet one of their number slew our father. Why?”

“Has it never struck you as strange that a whole line of _enkagon_ would marry one another for centuries, rather than seeking out _ademaggon_? How do you think your ancestors handled this situation?”

“Surely you’re not suggesting…” she questions, though she immediately understands his meaning.

“Not always, but frequently. Who better to provide for a queen or princess, who needs something her husband cannot give her, than a man who has made vows to sacrifice everything to protect her and her family, who is expected to follow her at all times?”

“And the men in my family?” she can’t help asking.

“Many of them, too. I gather some of them even shared. Though we all know from the history of Great Bastards that a number sought other solutions their sisters were less free to. You are free. You can do whatever you like.”

Whatever she likes, what a terrifying freedom it is sometimes. That is not the issue at hand, though. The issue is that she doesn’t know and yet she’s asking Jorah, as always, to follow her into an unknown she cannot tell him the risks of.

“And you, you are willing to make the same sacrifices, the same promises, with no assurance of… anything?”

“I already have,” he tells her. “I made it when you were Drogo’s with no expectations or hope and I will make it again when you find a worthy consort who leaves you in need only of my sword and not my…”

“Sword?” she can’t help chuckling, despite the seriousness of the moment. 

“All of me is yours, to use or discard as you see fit. I have no illusions or assumptions that this is anything more to you than a moment of need.”

“This- You-” She doesn’t want to promise what she can’t deliver, but Jorah is precious to her, beyond what he evidently understands. “You are not interchangeable with anyone else. You are not discardable. There are other _ademaggon_ here I could have used and discarded. I did not. I trust you. I rely on you. Yes, I needed someone to relieve me to begin with, but when I asked you to stay, that was a want and not a need. This is a choice.”

She grabs hold of his shoulders, as she kisses him with renewed purpose. 

“There are things, things that I want to say, but should not.”

“I know,” she tells him. “You have shown me, but I think perhaps you ought to show me again.”

He wraps his arms around her and rolls them over, running his hands over her body as they both start moving once more, her grinding down onto him as he thrusts up into her. 

He stares up at her with a look that reveals the truth they both know better than to let him say aloud.

“I live only to serve,” he murmurs instead, sitting up so his body presses against hers as she straddles him, running one hand through her hair as the other spreads across her back, supporting her as she arches in rising pleasure, kissing her like his very life depends on it.


End file.
